


People Like Us

by Severina



Category: Young Riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-06
Updated: 2003-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buck and Ike struggle to find a happy medium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Like Us

Ike leaned against the barn door and sighed.

The night was alive – insects danced among the wildflowers, their iridescent wings shimmering with the glow of the new moon. A smaller critter rustled through the sagebrush, searching for prey… or maybe just for the companionship of one of its fellows to ward off the cool pre-dawn breeze.

Ike brushed his fingers along his arms, feeling the goosebumps rising on his flesh beneath the meager protection of his long-johns. He shook his head before letting the door close behind him, stepping back into the dubious warmth of the barn. The pungent scent of new hay assaulted his senses as he wandered through the shelter, his eyes taking in the buckboard, the horses, the tack lined neatly on the shelf by Teaspoon’s hand. Taking it in, but not really seeing it. Not really. It was hard to see anything clearly these days.

Retreating to the farthest recess of the weather-worn building, Ike dropped down in front of Samson’s pen. The inquisitive mule stepped forward eagerly. When no treat was forthcoming, the animal nudged the wooden gate and let out a bray that clearly demanded _something_ from his most dedicated visitor. Ike leaned forward, half-heartedly scratching the mule between the ears. The action seemed to satisfy Samson, who settled against the bars with a grunt.

Ike tipped his head forward, closing his eyes.

A sardonic smile curved his lips. What was he doing here, alone in the barn seeking solace from a mule? When he’d left the bunkhouse, he’d only known that he couldn’t stay in the same building with Buck for one moment longer. The soft sounds of the sleeping riders had filled the bunkhouse, telling a tale of contentment that he did not want to hear.

How could they be content when he was so unsatisfied? How could BUCK be content? His best friend’s gentle snores had seemed to rise in volume as Ike lay, body rigid, eyes wide and unfocused, trying to ignore the ache that ate at his soul. That fact that Buck was so completely oblivious drove him to distraction, until he knew that he’d explode if he stuck around. Finally he’d jumped from his cot, hastily snatching only his pants from the bedpost before rushing out into the night.

Now he shivered from more than the chilly air. He wrapped his arms around his waist, wishing that the embrace came from someone else and hating that he wished it. Anger should be fuelling him, anger and resentment and indignation. He should be able to clad himself in his anger, let it shelter him from the storm both within and without. Instead, all he felt was an overwhelming weariness.

Ike sighed. He was tired of hiding. It seemed he’d spent his whole life hiding, whether he wanted to or not. He thought back to the little boy he once was… that happy child who wanted only to climb the trees at the back of the house. The little boy who intended to climb to the very top… someday. The child who spent hours chattering gaily to a mother who was only too happy to hear her son’s plans for adventure.

Shattered by a random act of violence.

He didn’t even remember how he got to the mission school. The days and nights following the slaughter of his family were just a blur, a kaleidoscope of images distorted by sorrow. He knew only one thing for sure: it was when he got to the mission school that he learned to hide.

He hid everything. It was the only way he could survive. His voice was lost to him, as much as victim of Nicholson’s brutality as his parents’ vicious murders. The playful child he had been was destroyed that day, and in his place was the silent shell he had become. Unable to communicate, shunned and ridiculed, he had tucked his true feelings away. After all, when the other children at the mission looked at him, they saw only a freak. A monster. So he gave them what they wanted, taking some small pleasure in the gasps of horror he could elicit from the younger students. At least after he pulled faces and acted the fool, they left him alone. Even the Sisters were more than willing to ignore their “eccentric” charge and his antics. It was easier to ignore than to deal with the problem, and they had more than enough on their plates already. Ike was left to his grief and his memories of happier times.

He still remembered his first sight of Buck Cross. The scrawny, half-starved Indian had instilled just as much fear in the student populace as he had. Yet Buck had never tried to capitalize on that fear; he’d never known that if he just played up his differences, he’d be left alone as well. Buck had spent those first few months at the mission wandering wide-eyed and alone, a look of perpetual anxiety marring his youthful features. And for a reason that Ike could not fathom, he’d been drawn to Buck’s presence… until one day he found himself fighting side by side with the half-breed. He still didn’t know how it happened. One moment he’d been sitting on the stoop outside the mercantile, cheerfully eating the apple he’d skillfully filched from the display table. The next moment he was being pummeled from every side as he helped to defend Buck’s honour and Indian heritage.

Their lives changed after that, Ike mused. Slowly, steadily, they formed a friendship. They became a unit. Ike and Buck. They went through everything together; weathered the storms of childhood together. He learned to smile again. The friendship grew into love, a loved based on the sharing of boyhood joys, boyhood sorrows, and boyhood dreams.

And then the love changed, too.

Ike couldn’t pinpoint exactly when _that_ happened, either. There was no single moment when he began to see Buck not as his boyhood “brother”, but as a man. The awareness had grown over time until it was all he could think about. He knew the Sisters of the mission would be horrified at the pictures that formed in his mind. He dreamed of letting Buck’s silken hair flow through his fingers… of feeling the taut muscles of Buck’s chest pressed against his body. He woke from the dreams breathless and flushed, terrified by what he was feeling but exhilarated by the raw power. He tried to hide his desires away, but he was out of practice at concealing his emotions. He lived in constant fear of being discovered – until he saw the same passion reflected in Buck’s eyes.

Ike let out a strangled cry as his hand drifted away from Samson’s head to clench the wooden bars of the animal’s pen. He’d known that they’d have to hide their love as they drifted from town to town, searching for work. But they’d found more than mere jobs with the Express. They’d found family. People who respected them despite their differences. People who loved them. Was he so wrong to believe that their family would _still_ love them if their secret were revealed?

Shivering as a gust of cool morning air seeped through the chinks in the walls to bite at his flesh, Ike squeezed his eyes shut to trap the tears inside along with the pain. He leaned his forehead against the rough-hewn wood. Exhaustion nipped at his bones, but he knew sleep would be elusive until he was able to calm the tumult that tortured his heart.

* * * * *

Buck let the barn door close gently behind him before stepping softly onto the hay-strewn earth. His eyes pierced the darkness, finally spotting Ike crouched against Samson’s pen.

Buck winced as a wave of shame and regret flooded his mind. He knew that Ike had been hurting, but seeing him curled in upon himself sent a shiver to his soul. Ike looked like nothing so much as an abused animal, hiding in the dark to avoid the harsh lash of its vindictive owner. To know that he was the cause of at least some of that pain was almost more than Buck’s heart could bear.

Moving with care, Buck crept to the back of the barn and dropped to his knees behind Ike, rubbing his hands gently over the arms of his best friend. The chill he felt emanating from Ike’s barely covered body worried him, but the way Ike stiffened at his touch alarmed him more. The fingers of Ike’s hands were white with strain as he clutched the bars of Samson’s pen as though only they were keeping him upright.

Buck bent forward, brushing his lips lightly against the tender flesh of Ike’s neck. “Talk to me.”

The vehement motion of Ike’s denial left no doubt that he wanted to be left alone, but Buck wasn’t one to be put off that easily. He rested his chin on Ike’s shoulder, his cheek grazing Ike’s. He knew what the problem was… or at least, he thought he did. With Ike, he’d learned, problems tended to fester. It wasn’t beyond reason that Ike was angry now about something that happened three months ago. No, that wasn’t the case. He _knew_ what it was. But he had no desire to hash out something that they’d already discussed ad infinitum. He also had no desire to watch the only person he loved suffer. So they’d discuss it again. And again. Until he could make Ike see his point of view… or until he could ease the pain in Ike’s heart.

Buck sighed, his breath a gentle flow of warm air against Ike’s chilly flesh. “Is it the same—”

Ike pulled away so violently it sent Buck rocking back on his thighs. His eyes flashed. “We have to talk about it, Ike!”

Ike half-turned, glancing over his shoulder. His expressive fingers sliced the air. _“Why? You’ve already made OUR decision!”_

Buck recoiled. Most people felt pity for Ike, at least at first. The poor boy who couldn’t talk. Buck knew better. Ike used his eyes as much as his hands to relate the tale he wanted to tell. Buck had spent endless nights gazing into Ike’s eyes, losing himself in the stories they told. Now the hostility flaring in those eyes set off a tremor that raced through his blood. He gulped, meeting the tempestuous glare uneasily. “It’s not—”

Ike turned away with a sneer.

An anger that Buck didn’t know he was holding suddenly blazed forth. He grabbed a fistful of Ike’s top and twisted, the momentum pulling Ike’s shoulders toward him.

“DON’T turn your back on me! You want to hide out like a little baby, fine! Just don’t come cryin’ to me when you DO want to talk, ‘cause I’ll be… I’ll be…”

Buck stopped, releasing his hold on Ike’s shirt with lifeless fingers. Ike’s eyes, just moments ago flashing with a belligerence that frightened him, were now brimming with unshed tears. The fury had been daunting, but the lost and lonely look… he couldn’t handle it. He never could. He wanted to destroy whoever had placed that look on the face of the man he loved.

Unfortunately, that someone was him. And none of this – the anger or fear or heartrending pain – was going to disappear just because they wished it so.

Buck drew in a shaking breath, leaning forward until his forehead met Ike’s.

“You know it can’t be the way you want,” he whispered.

 _“They’re our family.”_

“Yes. And they love us. But,” Buck struggled to find the words, words that he hadn’t already used a hundred times before, “they wouldn’t understand. They’d think something was wrong with us.”

Ike shook his head. _“Love is love.”_

“I know, but…”

Buck closed his eyes. He tried to avoid thinking about the past – the days and nights when his loneliness had seemed to be a living thing, a beast that intended to devour him whole. Ike’s friendship had seemed to be a gift from the gods, a sign that his decision to leave the Kiowa world had been the proper one. And when that friendship had turned to love…

Buck shuddered, the furor of emotions he’d felt then still bubbling near the surface once the memory was summoned. They’d been gone from the mission school for a few months, alone in the world with only each other to rely on. But they’d relished their freedom, exhilarated by each new adventure. They never shied from hard work, and if they encountered bigotry, then they weathered it together. They were a team, and he couldn’t have imagined sharing his life with anyone else.

Then, on a day like any other, he’d watched Ike bathing in the stream, felt the desire rising in his body, and felt… ashamed. This was nothing like the older boys at the mission had discussed. This was nothing like he’d read in the trashy dime-novels he’d purloined from the mercantile. This desire had no name.

He’d feared it, or at least he thought he had. The desire tormented him like a crazed animal, growing larger as each day passed. Finally, he’d made up an excuse and rode two days west, alone. He set up the prayer circle and fasted, and spoke to the spirits of the world.

And discovered, to his surprise, that it wasn’t the desire he feared at all. He loved Ike, and there was no shame in that. The anxiety about his love sprang not from the love itself, but from the fear of what would happen should anyone discover that love. He wanted acceptance… no, he needed acceptance. After so long as an outcast, he needed to belong. And while he could belong to Ike, he was finally brave enough to admit that that wasn’t enough. He needed to find a place in the world that included both Ike and a family and friends that could love him. And he had. They had. He couldn’t go back to being just the half-breed, the injun, the freak.

Buck opened his eyes. Ike hadn’t moved, his clear blue eyes regarding Buck with seemingly unending patience.

Buck licked his lips, his mouth dry. The words he had been seeking for weeks were suddenly absurdly clear, as was the reason he’d never been able to say them before. He forced himself to meet Ike’s eyes.

“But,” he continued, his voice a rasp in the cool darkness of the barn, “I’m afraid. I… I don’t want to be… I want to just love you and… but… I can’t lose what we’ve got here, Ike. I can’t. I’m selfish, I know it. I want the best of both worlds… I want you and I want my family… and I can’t risk them all, I can’t, not even for you… our friends, I can’t—”

The soft press of Ike’s finger on his lips halted the tumult of words. He shuddered as Ike lifted a hand to tenderly push a lock of hair behind his ear. The slender fingers that had earlier flashed so violently now fluttered gently. _“I love you.”_

Buck blinked. Of all the things he had steeled himself to hear, those three words were the last he expected. “I love you too, but—”

 _“I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I should have known… guessed… how hard it’s been for you.”_

“No. Ike… I’ve… you couldn’t read my mind! I… I didn’t even realize myself! You are the most important thing in my life… but I… I’m sorry! I wish I was different, felt different—”

 _“No! Don’t say that. I love you just the way you are.”_ An impish smile lit Ike’s features as he turned away from Buck, leaning back against his chest, the stiffness that had marked their earlier embrace long gone. _“Besides, now Samson knows. It’s a start. We can work our way up from there!”_

Buck laughed shakily as his arms wound around Ike’s body. He snuggled his face into Ike’s neck, letting his lips wander where they would. He felt Ike sigh as he settled more securely against his chest. “You’re cold,” he murmured against the cool flesh.

Ike let his fingers drift lazily in the air. _“You can warm me up.”_

“In front of Samson? Isn’t that a bit more than we want to share?”

 _“We can trust him. He’s famous for his discretion.”_

Buck smiled against Ike’s neck, knowing without looking that a matching smile graced Ike’s face. He pressed his mouth closer, nibbling at the tender skin before sketching a path to Ike’s ear and taking the tender lobe between his teeth. He nipped gently and was rewarded with a gasp for his efforts.  
Buck wrapped his arm around Ike’s waist, drawing his lover backwards into the circle of his body. His other hand trailed along the front of Ike’s shirt, nimble fingers tracing the chiseled contours of his chest. He let his hand linger for a moment, relishing the quickening heartbeat beneath his fingers.  
Their lives together weren’t going to be easy. But, Buck mused, whoever said that life was easy? Ike was right. Love was love. And the spirits of the world had blessed him indeed.

Slivers of pre-dawn light painted their bodies as they reaffirmed that love.

THE END 


End file.
